


Moments in the Dark Castle

by WittyWallflower



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:54:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WittyWallflower/pseuds/WittyWallflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles set during Belle's time with the Dark One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End of the Gown of Gold

One day Belle's gown ripped. She was out filling buckets from the well when it caught on the ivy that choked the kitchen courtyard. The first time she saw the yard she sent up a silent prayer that she would not be expected to tend the landscaping after she had cleaned the castle. For now she was too busy to worry about it. 

Brushing a curl damp with sweat back from her forehead, she grasped the pails she had filled from the well and set off back to the castle at a brisk pace. Distracted by the heavy burden, she didn’t notice the tangle of branches that had snagged the fabric until they pulled the gold cloth taut and tangled it about her legs. Unbalanced, she fell in an graceless heap, the water in pails splashing everywhere and mostly upon herself. Her knees and elbows banged painfully against the cobblestones. 

A great deep sigh of frustration blew through her lips, fluttering the riotous dark hair that had tumbled into her face once more. She tied it back at least three times a day, but silk ribbons did little to bind silky curls in place and she spent half the day with her vision obstructed by it. Angry now, she shoved it back and tried to sit up but found herself hopelessly twisted up in her skirts. She tried to free herself from the branches only to find they had torn a great rent in the yellow silk and poked through even her petticoats. Turning over to inspect the damage had only made it worse, now the silk was twisted tightly around the branch, impaled upon its thorns. 

She carried no dagger or scissors and for moment wondered how she was to free herself. Pulling at the ivy would only prick and bloody her fingers. Belle sat, considering the conundrum, her skirts rucked up past her knees and her bottom in a puddle of well water. Well, there was no help for it. Reaching beneath her skirts, she unwound the ribbon securing her petticoats and shimmied out of them, careful to keep the yellow over-skirt demurely covering what they could of her legs. When she was free she slipped into the castle's kitchens and located a pair of shears. A few scrapes against the whetstone later she decided it was sharp enough to get the job done and marched back into the yard to free the rest of her raiment.

.x.x.x.

 _Where was that girl?_ The Dark One wondered to himself. He had sent her to prepare his bath, a task that shouldn’t take long on the great roaring fire she insisted must be kept lit in the kitchens. “Nothing is ever truly clean that wasn't scrubbed in scalding water.” she had said. And what would a lordling's daughter know of such things? At the time he wondered if she had ever so much as washed her own hair unassisted. But Belle had been a pleasant surprise. She worked diligently and with more competence than expected. Not that it was exactly difficult to scrub a floor.

Then he heard her footsteps on the stair, slow and careful. The senses heightened by dark magic could just barely detect the slosh of water as well. The sounds grew closer until, with a quiet shuffle, one gold-slippered foot toed the door open and she entered. When Rumplestiltskin turned to direct her to the stone tub, he couldn't miss the difference in her appearance.

 

The golden gown was chopped short, revealing her creamy legs beneath. No longer weighed down by their own length, the skirts belled gracefully about her hips with each step she took across the floor. Her face was set and she steadily avoided meeting his gaze, but his eyes were not on her face to notice. As she bent to empty a pail into the lavish tub, Rumple told himself it was the steam rising to fill the room that accounted for the heat he suddenly felt and not the view of her legs, pale as milk, slender and graceful. His eyes rose from her feet in their dainty slippers to her delicate ankles, to the calves that flexed with each shift of her balance. When Belle reached down for the other pail, her petticoats rode higher up her thigh and Rumplestiltskin forced his eyes from her bare legs.

He forced himself to focus on the altered garment. She had trimmed it cleverly but he could see where she had cut around great rents in the petticoats beneath. He noticed the faint smudges on the back of her skirt; every chair in the castle except his own was cloaked in dust the day she arrived. Now that the dirty, stained hem was gone from the dress, his eye saw too the dark spots on the bodice of the gown around the underarms. With nothing else to wear, Belle had no opportunity to wash the garment and by now the dress was beyond help. At first it had amused Rumplestiltskin to keep her dirty and shabbily dressed, this lordling's daughter with her fine silks and jewels, spoiled by a lifetime of servants to tend her every need. He made wagers with himself on whether she'd be brave enough ask for better treatment, or be unwise enough to demand it. 

He knew the dress drove Belle mad during her duties. Scrubbing the floor, her dress would become trapped beneath her, forcing her rearrange it entirely every time she reached for a new tile. Her repeated sighs of frustration and grunts of effort as she tugged the skirts from beneath her knees had chased him from the chamber. He'd almost stripped her bare then just so he could spin in peace and now he was not surprised when she entered the room sans her dress from the knee down. Belle had never said a word about it though; somehow he suspected it wasn't fear that held her back. Could it be that she had expected nothing better from life as a servant in the Dark Castle? Whatever she expected, she had struck the deal. Still, he was weary with her tatters; the game was no longer worthwhile as she seemed unlikely to give any amusing reaction to the hardship.

 

“Tut-tut, dearie.” he said. “This won't do.” When she looked at him inquiringly he gestured to her outfit and she stiffened at the look of mirthful disdain on his face. “I've a certain reputation to maintain after all. If my servants look shabby, others might think I've fallen on hard times. A very important part of striking a deal is leading the other person to believe that you have the stronger position.”

 

As he spoke Rumplestiltskin circled Belle, looking her up and down. She could feel his eyes pick out every flaw in her appearance; the mangled dress, the untidy hair, the dirt of the cobblestones all over her person. Her hands clenched tightly into fists. _So this is how servants feel when they are treated like possessions instead of people_ , she thought. While insisting to her father and fiance that no one would choose her fate but her own self, Belle had chosen a fate where another person was master over her. There was a certain bitter irony to it now, but she could not have done otherwise. Belle had saved her people, and dressing in a servant's rags would be a small price to pay for their lives. 

When Rumplestiltskin completed his perusal and reappeared before her, he noticed something new. With a frown, he bent forward for a better look. Shadowed by shortened skirt and petticoat, the scrapes on her knee had been indistinguishable from the dirt smeared on them. Her movements up the stairs had opened one of the cuts, however, and a tiny trickle of blood was inching down her leg. Belle jumped back when he reached for her leg.

“Hold still, girl!” he barked. 

She forced herself to step up to him once more and tried not to cringe from his touch. But he never put his hand on her. Instead she felt a faint tingling at the wave of his hand a second before he spun away, striding over the bath as he unbuttoned his waistcoat. When Belle glanced down she saw two pale kneecaps poking out beneath her skirt. The scrapes had been completely healed and the grime cleared away, not even the faintest trace of blood remained.

 

“You've spent enough time in these rags.” he said, before she could thank him.

With another wave of his hand, the material of her dress rippled, grew longer, lightened in color. A second later she stood there in a gown as pristine as the first day she had tried it on, back in her father's home with the village dressmakers attending her. The hem, no longer stained and torn, hung to the floor once again and the dark spots of dirt and sweat were gone. The silk gleamed in the light.

 

The Dark One shucked his vest and began to unbutton his cuffs. Meanwhile Belle stood unmoving in the once again glorious gown. 

“Tub's full, dearie. Unless you were planning to stay and scrub my back, I'd say your work here is done.” He giggled at her but she only stared back at him. He could see her jaw working though. So she did have something to say after all, he sneered. “Well?”

Belle's eyes narrowed and she reminded herself to keep her temper. Not only her life but her entire kingdom was at his mercy if he decided he was displeased. She would have to be careful, he was a volatile man. No, not a man... a beast. She took a few breaths before she responded.

“I cannot clean the castle in this gown.”

“Oh? And what have you been doing here this past week? Catching up on your reading?” Rumple giggled at his own witticism as he dropped into a chair and began to remove his boots.

“I can't clean the castle in this gown.” she repeated, face set as stone. “If I shorten it again, will you simply fix it each time?”

“But of course. As I said, I can't have you looking like a beggar, reflects poorly on me you know.” 

Belle considered her words a moment. “I am your servant, correct? This is inappropriate raiment for a servant. Even if I could clean properly in this blasted gown, how would it look? Anyone who came to the castle might see me in this beautiful gown and mistake me for your... err...”

“For what, dearie? My mistress? My paramour? My _True Love_?” He noticed Belle's discomfort at the idea and giggled manically at it. She blushed. “Worry not, everyone knows the Dark One loves nothing, just as he fears nothing. Still, you may have a point.” Love was a weakness and he couldn't allow even the appearance of weakness before anyone, friend or foe. Not that he had much by way of friends.

Leaning back in the chair he pointed at her and with the gesture his magic vanished the formal silk gown with its full skirts and delicate embroidery across the bosom. In its place was a thin linen blouse topped by a blue gown trimmed in brown, laced up the front of the bodice. Instead of the voluminous petticoats she wore lace-trimmed pantalets and the circumference of the blue over-skirt was far smaller on this dress. On a whole it was easier to move about it and much more practical for the task; the material was sturdier and not so easy to stain or tear. The hem was several inches shorter so she wouldn't have to hold it up as she climbed the stairs. Instead of thin slippers, her shoes how had a sturdy heel and no cold seeped through from the stone floors of the Dark Castle.

Belle swayed slightly to feel the skirts swing against her legs. Sturdy, but light enough. Yes, this was just the thing, she thought, then realized she was smiling. She supposed to must be a womanly instinct in reaction to any new dress because she'd had far finer garments in her life, given with more affection and for pleasanter purposes. Still, it felt like she had won a small triumph; already her life with the Dark One was less unpleasant than it had begun. Without either realizing it, Belle had managed to extract a favor from the Dark One without striking any bargain or paying any price in return. Belle crossed to the covered mirror in the corner but when her fingers lifted the cloth draped over it, intent on a peep at herself, Rumplestiltskin halted her. 

“Nuh-nuh, dearie!” he said, shaking warning finger at her. Dark magic yanked the cloth from her hands and spread it over the mirror once more with a smart snap, like sail pulled taught by a gust of wind. “You wanted a dress to clean the castle in, not a dress for whirling about in front of the looking glass. Back to your work!” 

With that Rumplestiltskin turned his back on her, past ready for his bath. As he tugged his shirt free of his pants and pulled it off over his head, Belle grabbed the empty water pails and beat a hasty retreat. He was giggling at her embarrassed haste as he unlaced his leather pants but when he peeled them off and dabbled a finger in the bathwater, he found it cold. He wasn't about to dress again to summon the girl with more hot water. He wanted to bathe sometime this fortnight. Sourly, he passed his hand over the tub until a pleasant steam rose from it once again.


	2. Chapter 2

“Belle?”

Rumplestiltskin climbed the stairs to her chamber in search of her. Usually he knew exactly which room of the Dark Castle she was currently turning upside down but after the evening meal he often left her to her own devices for a few hours before she tended to the dinner dishes. Occasionally she used the time to explore the more obscure corners of the castle that she hadn't yet seen. Sometimes she joined him on the balcony for the sunset and silent contemplation. But usually she lost herself inside a book. That was where he found her now.

“Belle.”

He repeated her name but she didn't hear, didn't respond. She was kneeling on the cold stone floor, her skirts a pool of blue about her, and brushing a feather duster over the leather-bound books on the shelf. In a rather indolent fashion; the duster moved slowly back and forth over the same three volumes while Belle's attention was riveted by the book in her lap. As he watched, she turned the page and read on without missing a stroke, or noticing his presence.

He clicked his tongue in mild irritation and demanded her attention.

“Girl!”

“Oh!” was her startled exclamation in response. Both book and duster fell as she awkwardly attempted to spin around while also rising from the floor. Judging by the unsteadiness of her legs, Belle had been kneeling rather longer than she realized; pins and needles shot up the sleeping limbs and she tried to shake the feeling back into them. This only served to throw off her balance and she fell back against the shelves behind her, her elbow knocking a cascade of books to the floor.

Rumplestiltskin leaped forward in time to grasp her arm to support her before her knees gave out, saving her a nasty spill on the stone. As she regained her balance he righted the shelves with a wave of his hand. When he turned back to Belle he found her kneeling once more, picking up the book that had fallen from her lap. She carefully used the hem of her skirt to wipe the bound cover free of dust. Though how dirty it could possible be, Rumple wondered. She'd spent a full afternoon sweeping the stones and scrubbing the floor to a shine the day he'd moved her into this chamber.

He crouched down beside her. His leather-clad knee brushed against her as he reached out to take the book from her and replace it on the bookshelf; he retrieved the feather duster from the floor as well. Belle rose again, one hand placed quite carelessly upon his knee for balance. Her dark hair fell forward to cover her face as she bent to take the duster from him or she might have noticed the expression on his face as he stared at the spot where her hand has rested. Who was this girl so full of courage, so fearless of the beast, that she wold treat the Dark One to such idle touches? Did she not know who he was and what he was capable of? 

The correct response for someone in her position was to shrink away from him in fear; he had seen it countless times over the centuries. It was the only reaction he had inspired in anyone since he met that beggar on the road all those long years ago. There was safety in being feared. People who were afraid of you gave you a wide berth. Didn't break deals with you. Didn't interfere with your plans. Didn't butt into your life. But they also didn't spend time by your side, or comfort you in moments of internal darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

His instructions had been no more specific than “clean the castle, dearie, every last nook and cranny!”. As if simply said meant simply done. The estate was so immense that she'd only been able to see parts of it on their approach in the carriage. There was simply more to the extensive grounds than could fit into her field of view. Belle began her cleaning in the room where he'd left her with the cooling remains of his tea on the dusty table. The corners of the room were filled with cobwebs and odd piles of clutter that had accumulated over centuries; things Rumplestiltskin had tossed aside when they had fulfilled their use to him. 

One pile produced a crooked broom and Belle set to sweeping the floor. This was an easy enough task and when the detritus had been swept into the fire, she turned to survey the room. Well, it was start. If this room was any indication, each part of the castle would take at least a day to set to rights. She tried to think about exactly how many more rooms she might have to face. She glimpsed a few of them when she went in search of a pail of water and even more when she got lost on her way back when she'd found what she needed to clean properly. 

Two hours later her efforts were visibly noticeable. The floor was clear and the clutter had been organized into piles based on her best guesses as to their use or value. Belle was hesitant to move his things from the room or handle them too much lest he decide she was a thief and break their deal. A cloth wrapped around her broom served to knock the cobwebs out of the corners she could reach and she had dusted the display cases and pillars that held his treasures. As she did so, she noticed that the treasures themselves were mostly clear of dust, as if they were handled often. She wondered what they were, what their value to him was.

The long wooden table was polished to a shine, as were the matching chairs. Until she could devise a way to reach the higher ceilings, she had done all she could for now. She would have to ask him where the laundry facilities were, she made a mental note. A sigh of relief left Belle's lips as she looked around the improved room once more. If things didn't get much more difficult than pushing a broom or cloth around, maybe she would be okay. Maybe she would come out okay in this deal, her people would stay safe from the ogres and she wouldn't be cast out of the Dark Castle as useless. 

The tea set caught her eye before she turned to leave the room and move on to the next. The chipped cup mocked her fears about not living up to her side of the bargain. She picked up the chipped cup to examine more closely. She'd read books about places where broken china was repaired with precious metals, cracked filled with gold or silver to make the flaws more beautiful. If only she'd been able to find the missing piece in her cleaning, there might have been a chance to repair it. 

 

With a frown she set the cup back down. Noticing a speck on the tea spoon sitting besides it, she caught it up and began polishing it furiously. Rubbing harder than necessary, she made her way through the rest of the tea set, satisfied only when it all gleamed. As she replaced the last piece on the tray he reentered the room. 

“Finished in here, are we?” he wasn't about to voice his approval of the changes to the room, transformed from dusty vault to a room of luxury. “Excellent timing. You will prepare my meal now.”

Belle's face fell when he spun on his heels and marched for the door. He'd said 'serve' his meals earlier, and she'd seen no other household staff so far. Of course she should have understood that preparing the food would be required of her as well. She was chewing on her lip, trying to decide she should admit she couldn't cook or if that would nullify her agreement with him, when he suddenly turned back. Belle schooled her face but too late, he'd seen her concerned expression and his eyes narrowed at her.

 

“You can't find the kitchens, can you?” He sneered. 

She burned, embarrassed by the reality and angered that he found it so disdainful that she didn't magically know her way around the Dark Castle on her first day inside it. She replied with a nod, not trusting herself to speak. 

“Follow me, girl!” he barked and strode out. She followed, trying not to wring her hands with worry.

They arrived at the massive kitchens without ceremony. He pointed out the oven and bread cupboard then left her to find her own way about the massive room. With a huff she blew her bangs off her forehead and tried to decide where to begin. 

 

.x.x.x.x.

 

The Dark One sat slumped in his chair, tapping his fingers irritably on the table before him. How long his it take to prepare a meal, he wondered darkly. Just as he lost patience and surged to his feet, ready to go in search of his new servant, he heard her feet approaching down the corridor. He sat down again quickly, arranging his body in his previous look of annoying boredom before she appeared before him. 

“Finally!” he said. 

Before him she placed a tray with sliced loaf of bread and a small dish of oil sprinkled with herbs and spiced. He stared at her. 

“Well? Is this all?”

She dropped her gaze and shook her head. 

“First course.” 

“For future reference, I prefer to finish dining before sundown!” He sneered. The sun was still two hands above the horizon, hours from setting. 

She nodded, still not meeting his eyes.

“Of course.” she said and hurried from the room.

The girl really was a terrible liar. 

x.x.x.x.x

 

 

Belle hurried back into the kitchen and tried to suppress her panic. Cooking was completely outside of her frame of reference. She had never been allowed to play with the children of the cooks at her father's castle. They ran about the kitchens by day, employed as scullions so their mothers could work and still keep an eye on them. Their duties allowed for a fair amount of time to play and Belle had often yearned to join in their games. But her father had very strict ideas about who she was to associate with. 

She was operating on what she could remember from books. She had never noticed the lack of descriptive details of the cooking process before in literature but she cursed it now. The fates had blessed her with the carcass of some kind or another of fowl, already defeathered and ready to eat. A few likely-looking vegetables had been stuffed inside it and it was sprinkled with aromatic herbs she happened to recognize. Belle had given up any control over it (or hope for it) when she slid the pan into the oven. There were enough greens for a salad but she had no idea how to make a dressing and had to settle for grinding black pepper over it. 

The dessert she had the highest hopes for. She had actually remembered a passage from a fable that gave most of the recipe for a fruit tart. Belle had done a twirl about the kitchen when she had managed to remember the details. At least one dish was going to redeem her. She'd made it first before she forgot any of the ingredients and it sat cooling on the counter in the middle of the kitchen. 

Grabbing the towel to handle the handle of the oven, she was bending to check the bird when Rumplestiltskin burst into the room. She jumped in fright and spun to face him. He waved her into silence when her lips parted to speak. 

He stalked further into the room. Her eyes were riveted to the floor at his approach. Evidence of her efforts, little though they were, were all around her. The room hadn't seen a cleaning in years to begin with and she'd made it significantly worse. His eyes took it all in before settling on the food. He poked at the bowl of greens, lifting a piece. The girl had clearly never met an unprepared vegetable in her life and wouldn't know wilted lettuce if she lay down to sleep on it. 

He approached the oven and the spot where she was standing. Belle stood her ground as running away wasn't going to help her. Rumplestiltskin stepped close enough to feel the heat of her body and smell the scent of her hair. He leaned closer and she tried not to flinch away, half expecting to be struck. But he didn't lay a hand on her. The Dark One, most feared in the land, reached past her and opened the oven. Closing it again with a snap, he stepped back once more. Her eyes met his. 

“The fire has gone out. Unless you were planning to serve me raw chicken, it appears dinner was is going to take a while.” he said.

She ducked her head once more at his mocking voice. Turning to the counter, he regarded the tempting tart. Well, at least there's a sweet he thought. He broke off a corner and popped it into his mouth, his face souring immediately. Had the girl even thought to check if the white powder was sugar instead of salt?

“You can't cook.” It wasn't a question, but his tone wasn't as accusing and angry as she had feared. 

The sigh he heaved, one would think he'd made the worst deal of his life the day he brought Belle home with him. He could tell she was anxious but it amused him to make her squirm. Call it punishment for being too prideful to admit her lack of knowledge. He resented only the waste of his time, as he could have magicked up a meal for himself hours ago and gone back to his spinning wheel. 

“No matter.” he said, with wave of his hand. The ill-prepared dishes her had created disappeared. “Lucky for you, I am particular about what I eat and would rather not leave it up to you. Now it will prepare all meals at the appropriate times.” 

As he spoke the whole kitchen seemed to be in motion. Ingredients flew out of their cupboards and baskets and settled on the counter. Eggs cracked themselves into bowls and were whisked by utensils held by invisible hands. She jumped when the fire within the oven behind her roared to life once more and moved away from the sudden heat.

Relief was written upon her face as the meal began to assemble itself. She wanted to apologize for her shortcomings, ask forgiveness for not being truthful about them, thank him for not punishing her. But he wasn't interested in hearing it. 

“Tut-tut. This is entirely a matter of convenience for me. Now I know exactly when the meal with be prepared and that it wont poison me! ” He stopped before leaving the now bustling kitchen. His tone was less annoyed now. “If you are hungry, you may join me. But make no mistakes, you'll still be expected to serve me my meal!”

The Dark One was gone before Belle could respond.


End file.
